


Perverted Machine

by ghostburr



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: M/M, youre a slippery worm thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr
Summary: wrote this on a dare in july 2012 and it killed gore vidal so enjoy i guess
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Perverted Machine

“You have no proof. Not a single shred of evidence against me.”

Thomas Jefferson looked up from the stack of papers on his slightly disorganized desk, irritated. His dark-eyed, suspicious ex-vice-president looked at him poignantly. Whether it was his unique physiognomy to always appear as if hiding a secret smile or whether Aaron Burr was actually as guilty as sin, the president did not know. Either way, he did not trust the man. 

“This is nothing but politics, Jefferson. And completely irrational politics at that.” Aaron stepped closer. Thomas’ nerves heightened. “You–who pride yourself on rationality. Tsk tsk." 

Burr’s voice was a strange mix of calming and condescending–like a father coddling a child. Jefferson took a firm step back and straightened his frayed waist coat. Only now did he notice Aaron’s expensive silk sleeves and obviously new leather gloves. Though Jefferson was not a man for finery–at least not anymore–something about being overshadowed by his once second in command irked him. 

"Mr Burr, I do not trust you. I never did. Perhaps you do not see yourself as we see you–”

“–‘We’? I apologize, Mr Jefferson. I was not aware there was more than one president.” Aaron raised his delicate eyebrows at the Freudian slip. Thomas’ soft eyes closed once, and he regained his decorum.

“You inspire absolute distrust.” the president continued.

“Believe what you wish, Jefferson. I have always found that correcting others and their opinions of me is like…” Burr’s all-knowing black eyes washed eerily over his companion, “…attempting to kill the Hydra. One slices off its apparently singular head and a veritable triumvirate appears in its place.”

Thomas clenched his jaw, his patience and politeness wearing dangerously thin,

“If you have come to beg forgiveness and admit to your treachery then we may end this tiring conversation.”

The ex-vice-president leaned over the desk, lowering his voice. “I will never admit to anything. I would sooner die than compromise my integrity for you and your Junto.”

A trite smile appeared on Jefferson’s thin lips, “Integrity." 

Burr watched him for signs of a changing temperament. "Yes, Mr Jefferson. Integrity.”

The polite facade on the president’s face was fading fast.

“Nothing about your life reflects any sort of integrity. From the day you slithered onto life’s public stage until the day you take your thankful exit you will be nothing but a shadow." 

Jefferson’s words rang out like a curse, silencing his ex-vice-president for only a moment. A nameless emotion crossed Burr’s face for a split second before he regained control. 

"I suppose you will make sure of it." 

Thomas did not nod in agreement but Burr knew Jefferson’s game instantly. He walked smoothly over to a shelf of odd and ends, light from the evening sun catching briefly on his shiny gloves. 

"Every creation myth needs its serpent, I suppose,” Burr remarked lazily, fingering a length of gardening twine. “If casting me into that role helps you sleep at night, Jefferson, then so be it. I do not care.” He turned suddenly and fixed his black eyes on the president, who stood stock-still, waiting for the next move.

“I know who I am. I am answerable to no one.”

Jefferson watched his ex-vice-president cautiously. “Biblical analogies, Mr Burr? How charming. Your grandfather must be so proud of you.” He tapped his pale, tapered fingers in mock-pensiveness. “Let’s see, then. If you are the serpent, shall I play the Messiah?”

Burr scoffed audibly. “How fitting.”

Jefferson continued as if speaking only to himself. “And how did you get here, Mr Burr? Who will play the fallen Eve that you so cruelly challenged to eat the forbidden fruit?”

Burr’s demeanor changed in an instant. For all of his graceful resignation, there were a few subjects men knew not to approach around him. He spun around to face Jefferson, and absentmindedly holding the twine, pointed a deadly finger at his commander in chief like a pistol.

“How dare you speak of things you will never understand,” Burr hissed, his porcelain skin blotching unattractively. Jefferson merely smirked.

“I see I’ve hit a nerve.” The president circled his desk like a cat, looking down on his documents while Burr watched him for a sign of his intentions. 

“In any case, Mr Burr, this conversation is tiring and quite unnecessary. I am convinced of your guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. You are a blemish on this country.”

Thomas detected only the smallest of twitches in Aaron’s fingers as he lowered his hand. The men locked eyes and at that very moment, a righteous hatred Thomas Jefferson never knew he could feel burned through him.

Burr crossed the room, his boots hitting the floor with a soldierly click at each step, mimicking his own furious heartbeat. In seconds he was a mere three inches away from his president, looking boldly up into his serene face with narrowed eyes.

“Murder requires  _ intent _ , Mr Jefferson. Is it your intent to prove me guilty by any means necessary–ignoring the legal protocol you claim to hold so dear?” Burr sneered. “Announcing your opinions of my guilt to the entire country…prostituting yourself for politics…feeding off of the misery of others like a leech to rid yourself of not one but two rivals…” In his quiet rage, Aaron trailed off, shaken. He quickly regained himself.

Aaron Burr clenched his fists around the twine to stop himself from hitting the smug face above him. 

“If you have your way, you will be nothing more than a killer. I am not the real murderer here, you son of a bitch.  _ You  _ are.” 

“My poor, misguided friend,” as Jefferson reached out to condescendingly place a hand on his ex-vice president’s shoulders, Burr stepped back in a snap. His posture erect, Aaron smoothed his features out to regain composure. In an instant he was the commanding soldier of thirty years ago. 

“Sit down, Mr Jefferson.”

“…What?”

“I said sit down. Now.” Burr had adopted an authoritative air. Almost in a trance, Thomas obeyed, brows furrowed.

“You are willing to discuss your guilt, then.” The president concluded, looking down once again to his papers and picking up a quill to take note of his confession. He did not see Aaron stride over to him until the ex-vice-president was upon him, wrapping his shoulders to the chair with the twine in a cold, clinical state. Thomas looked up in a flash and squirmed uneasily.

“Mr Burr, what in God’s name are you doing?”

Aaron did not answer him until he had finished tying the rope. “You are a slippery worm, Thomas,” the president flinched at the disrespectful use of his first name, “I aim to make sure you do not slip away as I make my case to you.” The ex-vice president stood back to look at his handiwork, reaching behind him for his crop on the end table nearby. 

“Have you completely lost all your senses?” Thomas swayed to and fro angrily, trying unsuccessfully to break free. Aaron's cold laughter at the absurdity of the situation filled the small room as the sun sunk below the horizon. 

The cool touch of leather greeted Thomas’ cheek as Aaron stroked it with his fingers. His laughter quieted into an almost friendly chuckle and he sized up his companion. Thomas closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in apprehension.

“Now you have no choice but to hear me out. You have no minions to run to–no scum-of-the-earth journalists to fight your battles. It is simply you, and I,” at this Aaron pointed his crop to the sky, “and the ghosts among us." 

A grin spread across Burr’s face and Jefferson shook his head. "You are a lunatic. Deranged. Untie me at once.”

Aaron placed a hand on Thomas’ thigh. “No, I don’t think so,” he answered calmly, kneeling down beside the other man. “I rather like having you all to myself. Keeping an eye on you.” 

With the crop in his other hand, Burr gently traced the length of the president’s arm. After a moment, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. 

“And it would appear, Thomas, that you rather enjoy this too.” Aaron cocked his head to the side in mock playfulness, watching with glee as the president turned from pale to scarlet, closing his eyes in embarrassment. Aaron stood, contemplating his next move.

The sound of leather on leather greeted the president's ears as Burr rubbed his hands together, the crop resting in the nook of his arm. After a second of thought, Aaron got down on his knees once again at the side of the president, his boots leaving scuff marks on the floor. 

“What a curious discovery,” Thomas felt Aaron’s hand upon his leg again, creeping upwards to investigate the hardness between his legs. Thomas’ chest began to rise and fall as his heart-rate quickened. At this, Aaron let out another silky laugh as his hand gripped the other man through the beige linen of his breeches. The president let out a shallow gasp. 

With his crop, Aaron stroked Thomas’ cheek playfully as a cat would toy with a mouse, still feeling the hardness. He massaged it carefully, expertly, choosing his words with militaristic exactness.

“So much for the stoic, then,” he whispered, watching with glee as Jefferson grimaced in an attempt to subdue his arousal. The freckles on his nose stood out against his bright red cheeks as Burr’s hands wrapped in fine leather worked with maddeningly pleasurable precision. 

The president bit his lip to keep from crying out, desperate to hide the fact that he was enjoying this moment of unbridled lechery at the hands of the one man who could pull it off. His breath increased in rapidity while his eyes stayed closed. Only vaguely could he hear Aaron’s soft chuckles at the success of his debauched game. Thomas vowed to show no emotion.

“You think that you are above us, don’t you, Jefferson?” Burr whispered again, sneeringly. “You think you are noble. You think you are altruistic.” He worked his hand faster, gripping tighter in anger. He brought his mouth closer to Thomas’ ear, “You are nothing but a man–imperfect and entirely corruptible.”

Through his tightly closed mouth, Jefferson elicited a stifled moan. Still Burr played with him.

“Well. I see now why you chose not to remarry,” he breathed, the icy breeze from his words hitting Thomas’s neck and sending a shudder of pleasure down his spine. “For what woman could give you the sense of satisfaction in knowing that you brought one of the brightest men this infantile country has ever known to his knees?”

A final shuddering gasp and a pulsating release Aaron could feel even through his thick gloves told him his work was done. 

Completely clean of any evidence, Burr wiped his hands together exaggeratedly and looked at the hyperventilating man, slumped over in his chair, defeated. Aaron got up off his knees and teasingly brought the crop to his companion’s face once more, gently forcing Thomas’ face upright.

“Look at me.” Above him, the president could see that infamous smirk. Burr continued as if nothing happened while Jefferson writhed uncomfortably, wishing for a change of clothes. 

“You will speak of this to no one, not because I will threaten you,” the ex-vice-president’s voice resumed it’s dignified melodiousness, “But because you  _ can’t.”  _ He laughed, almost tickled. 

Finally, Jefferson found his words. Through the residual pleasure Thomas felt at his release, his words came out weakened. He managed to mutter a plea. “Untie me this instant.” 

Burr calmly acquiesced and walked behind him to find and loosen the knot, “You will pretend like this never happened, and when my legal team issues that subpoena-” 

At this, Jefferson raised his eyebrows in alarm,“–You would not dare–”

Burr saw the expression and another cold smile decorated his lips, “Oh but I would, Mr Jefferson. I would dare. You of all people should not be surprised. And when you idiotically refuse to heed that notice, everyone will know what a clever politician you really are.”

The two men studied each other as Aaron stepped closer, kneeling down once again while Thomas still sat, stunned, in his chair. In hushed words, he made his case known to the president.

“After this farce of a trial is over, I will be finished. I know it, you know it–even that honorable and infinitely more judicious cousin of yours knows it. It matters not whether I live or die. But you must know, Thomas,” Burr’s biting cynicism dripped off of every word, “that believe it or not, I will take immense comfort in knowing that the only difference between you and I is that you managed to gain glory from your lies, and I did not.”

The president viewed his second-in-command with a mixture of contempt and wonder, sorting through the conclusion Burr had just drawn. Coyly, Aaron’s eyes washed over the crotch of Thomas’ pants. 

“Clean yourself up. Look respectable for once.”

With an iron, cerebral air that had always marked him as formidable, Burr stood up quickly, smoothed his black hair and composed himself. Without looking back he turned on his heel and exited the room, ready to prepare himself for his upcoming legal masterpiece. 


End file.
